Katie//24//theythem I'm non binary,pansexual.poly,disabled and autistic. Icon art credit goes to my good friend Madartist0
DID YOU ALL KNOW THAT YOU CAN DO WHATEVER UOU WANT WHEN YOURW MAKING ART ISNT THAT WILD
ALT
i have no defense against this. you've got me
autistic who goes “fun fact” and then proceeds to tell you the most gruesome unfunny thing you’ve heard all day
weirdmageddon
rotisseries
i'm bored again but that's nothing new. i've counted the freckles on your face (51), and the splotches on the wall (178,320, in the six foot section of the world i can see in from of me before it reds out), and my eyes aren't good enough to count the hairs on your head.
i lose myself in a fantasy for a moment, listening to the distant sound of someone talking; words, back when this was all new. memories of other voices are distant and half-imagined. i know academically other people can talk because you told me about yourself once, and the person i can't see told me about the accident
maybe it's a memory or maybe it's a dream, but i think about a beach. a world where the horizon isn't red, where the infinite crashing of the vast ocean repeats. i think i was a beach guy.
there's things i used to think about that i don't think about anymore because there's no point. you know all this anyways, i've told you so many times, but. the man who is standing to my right, who i can't see.
i wonder about him sometimes, even now. i know, i know, there's no point, there's no point, but i wonder what runs through his mind. is he the lucky one?
you and i have each other. he just has my right ear. my right hand, my best friend, the great big fuck up. but there's no point, there's no point, there's no point. i'll never know.
did you know did you know did you know know know that light isn't the fastest thing in the universe? everything without mass goes that fast, lights just what we see. i was told that at some point, and i don't remember anymore why or when. but the fact stuck in my head, little scrap of glass, pearl to my brain oyster to you right now.
i'm sorry i'm having trouble staying lucid right now. i'm having a bad timeloop. if i'm totally honest i've been having a bad time of it for a while now.
i can always tell you about it though because whenever i have a bad timeloop i just look at your eyes and the flowers in your hair, and you make me feel better. how wonderful that i'm looking at you now and always will be.
i want to pretend for a while, and i do, and i think about a memory or a fantasy or whatever about you and me and the man to my right at a beach with tall trees and rocky sand and water and the box that made all this possible and its fun! to think, to remember a place that's different. i'm so glad you're here with me.
seagull screaming interspersed with the words that frame the world, maybe hotdogs, other people? and we'd sit there on the rocks and it'd be too too cold but we'd tough it out. i'm very tough. you remember right?
eating is fun. its gotten a bit fuzzy but thats a good thing because we'd all be dead if we needed to eat. we'll never die. i think i liked eating glass. beach glass was free candy in that far off before before before, all pastel colors and sharp razor bite. i'd give you some and you'd bite it happy and we'd remember it for ever ever ever
there's nothing to do but count and pretend and remember and you, but that's okay. we have forever, so i can pretend a lot. being someone other than who i am, you're someone other than who you are. you're already two things, him and her, and that's so interesting to me.
lets pretend that-- no no that's boring. i'll go back to counting counting counting. I'll try and count the hairs on your head again, even if my eyes aren't good enough. the effort's worthwhile, and your hair is so pretty-handsome-pretty anyways.
i love the flowers in your hair, all red and white.
i've pretended to be different people before. maybe i'm pretending to be someone else now; it's hard to remember. if it was important, would i have forgotten? we have enough time to figure it out though.
i'm taking a break from counting your hairs, or pretending to count your hairs, or pretending pretending pretending-- and thinking about who i want to be next time. maybe i'll count the spots on the wall and the freckles on your face and the shell casings on the ground again.
i meet your eyes again and i wonder, not for the first time, what you're thinking, how much i want to tell you and have told you and will tell you am telling you. do the flowers make it hard to pretend?
the open cavity in your skull spreads flowers of grey and red and white all across the air, across your hair, across the red horizon and white walls that bound our perfect world. i count the pieces of you, displayed forever, swirling in violent beauty-handsome-beauty. 47, 48, 49. your gun is useless on the ground, defanged by eternity in four seconds. you meet my eyes and i'm so so happy.
i have everything i want here and now and forever. i pretend, i remember, i count, i look at you.
god couldn't build a better heaven.
i love you.
i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you i love you i love you
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